“I stayed with him there a week, never going out or seeing anyone, mostly asleep. I’d caught a chill.
“He played in two concerts and made a lot of money; and then we went away to Germany together; and no one was a bit the wiser.”
“And did he marry you?”
“Well—no. He couldn’t, poor fellow! He’d already got a wife living; and three children, which he declared were not his. They live in Elberfeld in Prussia; she keeps a small sweet-stuff shop there. He behaved very badly to them. But it was not through me! He’d deserted them long before; but he used to send them plenty of money when he’d got any; I made him, for I was very sorry for her. He was always talking about her, and what she said and what she did; and imitating her saying her prayers and eating pickled cucumber with one hand and drinking schnapps with the other, so as not to lose any time; till he made me die of laughing. He could be very funny, Svengali, though he was German, poor dear! And then Gecko joined us, and Marta.”
“Who’s Marta?”
“His aunt. She cooked for us, and all that. She’s coming here presently; she sent word from the hotel; she’s very fond of him. Poor Marta! Poor Gecko! What will they ever do without Svengali?”
“Then what did he do to live?”
“Oh! he played at concerts, I suppose—and all that.”
“Did you ever hear him?”
“Yes. Sometimes Marta took me; at the beginning, you know. He was always very much applauded. He plays beautifully. Everybody said so.”
“Did he never try and teach you to sing?”
“Oh, maïe, aïe! not he! Why, he always laughed when I tried to sing; and so did Marta; and so did Gecko! It made them roar! I used to sing ‘Ben Bolt.’ They used to make me, just for fun—and go into fits. I didn’t mind a scrap. I’d had no training, you know!”
“Was there anybody else he knew—any other woman?”
“Not that I know of! He always made out he was so fond of me that he couldn’t even look at another woman. Poor Svengali!” (Here her eyes filled with tears again.) “He was always very kind! But I never could be fond of him in the way he wished—never! It made me sick even to think of! Once I used to hate him—in Paris—in the studio; don’t you remember?
“He hardly ever left me; and then Marta looked after me—for I’ve always been weak and ill—and often so languid that I could hardly walk across the room. It was that walk from Vibraye to Paris. I never got over it.
“I used to try and do all I could—be a daughter to him, as I couldn’t be anything else—mend his things, and all that, and cook him little French dishes. I fancy he was very poor at one time; we were always moving from place to place. But I always had the best of everything. He insisted on that—even if he had to go without himself. It made him quite unhappy when I wouldn’t eat, so I used to force myself.
“Then, as soon as I felt uneasy about things, or had any pain, he would say, ‘Dors, ma mignonne!’ and I would sleep at once—for hours, I think—and wake up, oh, so tired! and find him kneeling by me, always so anxious and kind—and Marta and Gecko! and sometimes we had the doctor, and I was ill in bed.
“Gecko used to dine and breakfast with us—you’ve no idea what an angel he is, poor little Gecko! But what a dreadful thing to strike Svengali! Why did he? Svengali taught him all he knows!”
“And you knew no one else—no other woman?”
“No one that I can remember—except Marta—not a soul!”
“And that beautiful dress you had on last night?”
“It isn’t mine. It’s on the bed upstairs, and so’s the fur cloak. They belong to Marta. She’s got lots of them, lovely things—silk, satin, velvet—and lots of beautiful jewels. Marta deals in them, and makes lots of money.
“I’ve often tried them on; I’m very easy to fit,” she said, “being so tall and thin. And poor Svengali would kneel down and cry, and kiss my hands and feet, and tell me I was his goddess and empress, and all that, which I hate. And Marta used to cry, too. And then he would say,
“ ‘Et maintenant dors, ma mignonne!’
“And when I woke up I was so tired that I went to sleep again on my own account.
“But he was very patient. Oh, dear me! I’ve always been a poor, helpless, useless log and burden to him!
“Once I actually walked in my sleep—and woke up in the marketplace at Prague—and found an immense crowd, and poor Svengali bleeding from the forehead, in a faint on the ground. He’d been knocked down by a horse and cart, he told me. He’d got his guitar with him. I suppose he and Gecko had been playing somewhere, for Gecko had his fiddle. If Gecko hadn’t been there, I don’t know what we should have done. You never saw such queer people as they were—such crowds—you’d think they’d never seen an Englishwoman before. The noise they made, and the things they gave me … some of them went down on their knees, and kissed my hands and the skirts of my gown.
“He was ill in bed for a week after that, and I nursed him, and he was very grateful. Poor Svengali! God knows I felt grateful to him for many things! Tell me how he died! I hope he hadn’t much pain.”
They
